


Play the Game

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, F/M, Light Bondage, Plot What Plot, Roleplay, Strip Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:38:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Belle decides to bring a new game to the bedroom. Shameless PWP</p>
<p>Also, this is technically set shortly after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/347186">Waiting to be Cast</a>, in the Home before Midnight-verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play the Game

“Wakey wakey, dearie.”

Gold stirred from what had been a deep sleep. “Mm?” He frowned, trying to move his hands, but it seemed that his arms and legs were restrained, spread wide. His eyes flew open, greeted by a room that was nearly black as pitch, if not for the candles flickering here and there. Panic immediately flooded him, the room feeling unfamiliar, out of his control.

“Belle…” he growled.

There was a quiet chuckle from somewhere nearby. 

“Now then, Mr Gold,” his lover murmured. “You said I should smite you, but you never stay still long enough.”

He stared around, seeking her out and finally spotted her in the shadows by the door. “You believe this is necessary.”

She stepped forward, enough to be illuminated by the flickering candlelight, and Gold’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. What panic there had been vanished like smoke in the wind. “Oh no, dear,” she murmured, her eyes gleaming. “I know it’s necessary.”

He had always believed the woman had the ability to look enticing in the most simple and minimal of clothing. His shirt, a plain dress, the bed sheets. And yet, nothing quite prepared him for how she looked when she was… well, for want of a better word, dressed like him.

The suit could have been one of his own, tailored to fit her. The tie was same blue as her eyes. Her hair was drawn back in an intricate braid, and she was smiling in a way that was altogether far too familiar to him. As was the way she was leaning on his stick. 

“Belle,” he said, hoarsely. “What are you doing?”

His cane tapped on the floor as she approached the bed, her eyes fixed on his face. “I want you to know how I feel every single day,” she murmured, her lips drawing back in a rather frighteningly accurate imitation of his most wicked smile. “How I feel when I look at you, when you look like this.”

His eyes flicked down her body and back, and he licked his lower lip. “I’m quite sure I don’t look quite like that,” he said, tugging slowly at the bonds. The beautiful, wicked creature was just demanding to be pinned down on the bed and ravished to within an inch of her life.

The cane moved, snake fast, the tip coming to rest on the middle of his chest.

“Don’t struggle, dearie,” she murmured, her eyes dancing. “I wouldn’t want to see you damage yourself in your hurry.” The tip of the cane moved in a slow circle on his chest. “You asked for smiting, and I intend to see you are thoroughly smitten.”

“Smote,” he corrected, then shuddered pleasantly as she traced the cane down his belly.

“Not quite, dear,” she murmured. “I believe my choice of words was more accurate.” She knelt on the edge of the bed and leaned over him, the way he most often woke her every morning, and brought her face close to his. “And I plan on taking my time.”

He arched his neck from the pillow. “You are a wicked creature,” he breathed close to her lips, daring her to kiss him.

She caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged, then released. “I know,” she whispered, sliding his cane between his spread-eagled legs, the cool wood making him twitch. “I learned from you.”

He groaned gutturally as she leaned down to nibble her way down his throat. He supposed he had asked for this, even if he hardly imagined she would find the nerve to do it by pretending to be him. And the use of the cane… he had never…

“A little… much,” he hissed as she dragged her teeth over his collarbone.

She laughed against his chest. “You think?” she said, lifting her head enough to look him in the eyes. Her free hand slid down over his shoulder and into his hair, dragging his head back and she placed bite after stinging, delicious bite, all the way up his throat to the flesh beneath his jaw. The cane was still moving, sliding, and Gold shuddered beneath her. “Allow me to disagree.”

“Denying me participation…”

She kissed her way lazily back down his chest. Her hand released his hair and followed the path of her lips. “You don’t consider this participation?” she said, feigning horror. “Now now, that’s insulting.” Her teeth nipped at his nipple, making him jerk beneath her. She smiled against his skin. “You see, dear. Action, reaction.” She lifted her head and gave him a heated look. “We call that a consequence.”

“I’m quite familiar with those,” he said breathlessly, knowing that the threat and promise was wrapping itself around her, and she looked quite delighted by the prospect.

She pushed herself up towards his chest again, bracing her hand beside his head, her other still moving the damned, bloody, sodding, buggering cane in long, slow strokes against him. He could almost taste her whisper, her face so close to his. 

“I’ll tell you what,” she breathed. “I’ll make you a deal.” He almost groaned aloud when she slid the cane down close enough for her hand to brush against him. “I’ll take off a piece of clothing for every time you obey me.”

“A piece?” he asked hoarsely. Tie, shirt, coat, waistcoat, trousers. Easy enough to disrobe her and incite her to unbind him.

“Mm.” She kissed the corner of his jaw. “If you’re very, very good.” She nuzzled her way to his ear and sucked lightly on his earlobe. “Do we have a deal?”

“Agreed,” he breathed, his eyes closing.

Abruptly, she was gone, along with the cane, and he opened his eyes in dismay.

She was standing by the side of the bed, leaning on the cane, a speculative look in her eyes that was far too wicked.

“You surely don’t intend…”

“Quiet, dearie,” she purred, swinging the cane until the handle rested under his chin. He bared his teeth, which made her smile even more. “I didn’t say you could talk.”

“Belle…”

She laid one hand on the bed, leaning over him. “You remember our deal, don’t you?” she whispered. “No talking.” She swooped down and claimed a kiss that he craned towards, then pulled back, just out of reach. “Not unless it’s to beg.”

He fixed his eyes on her and deliberately bit his lower lip, to show willing.

“There we are,” Belle said, eyes gleaming and lowered the cane back to the floor, leaning on it as he habitually did. “Now… what are we going to do with you, dear?”

One side of his mouth turned up. Just because he couldn’t speak didn’t mean body language was out of the question and he lifted his hips in wordless invitation. He didn’t expect her hand to immediately cup him through the sheet, the only thing preserving his modesty.

A small, sharp sound escaped his throat, but he bit down on it.

Belle smiled, moving her hand, her eyes fixed on his face as she leaned down closer beside him, the cane skittering away on the floor. “Not a sound,” she whispered, her lips brushing his lips. He tried to steal a kiss. “And no taking without permission.”

She was a wicked, wicked creature. He should have known. No one around him could remain uncorrupted indefinitely. 

Her lips teased over his, and she bit the lower again, then licked the bite, and it took everything in him to stop himself surging up and claiming her mouth. Her hand moved on him again and when he stifled a gasp, she gently licked his upper lip.

“Please!”

“So soon?” she whispered gleefully against the corner of his mouth.

“Bloody right,” he groaned as her fingers tightened.

Her mouth was on his like fire, and her other hand was beneath his head, combing through his hair, drawing him into the kiss more greedily. She was passionate on the best of days, but this was something new.

“Good,” she breathed, when she finally broke apart, leaving him panting. She knelt up on the bed, and drew her hand from his hair, to reach up and loosen the tie. Every move was as slow and deliberate as the hand moving on him, and she bit her lower lip as the knot unravelled beneath her fingers.

Gold’s heart was pounding wildly and he pushed against her hand. She should not have been able to make herself more attractive. Definitely not. But she was doing it all the same.

She trailed the end of the tie over his lips and he caught it in his teeth, tugging, until it fell away from her. One piece of clothing down. He watched her raptly as she twisted her fingers to undo the top button of the shirt. 

“New rule,” she whispered again. “No moving.”

His hips stuttered beneath her hand, he whimpered, and he could see the way her lips twitched. She wanted to torture him until he was completely broken. Why on earth did he put up with it? Why did he even bother? Why wasn’t she kissing him again, already? Why was her hand still moving, over and over?

“A deal is a deal,” she murmured, baring her teeth just enough to be a smile. 

She lowered her head to kiss his chest, every touch of her lips urging his hips to jerk as she moved downwards, over his belly, darting her tongue in and out of his navel, in and out, just like he was moving in her hand. Only her hand was moving, not him. He was shivering, every muscle coiled and rigid, trying desperately not to move.

Her other hand drew the sheet aside, until her lips could trail the line of his hip, lower and lower on his belly. Her breath was warm and he was biting through his lip, pressing his head back against the pillow, and her mouth was so close, and her hand was still moving…

“Belle, for fuck’s sake!” he gasped out. “Please!”

She bit him lightly on the thigh, stifling her giggle there, and knelt up. “Look me in the face, dearie,” she breathed, and he couldn’t do anything but as she unbuttoned the jacket one handed, then shrugged and let it slide down over her shoulders. His hips twitched against her hand and she gave him a stern look. “Now, Rumpelstiltskin, what was our deal? No taking what isn’t given. No moving.”

He drew ragged breaths as her hand, lost in the sleeve of the fallen jacket slid away from him for just a moment. “You’re not helping,” he panted.

She tossed the jacket off the bed and settled herself between his spread legs, leaning up over him, her hands on either side of his ribs. “You’re talking, dearie,” she whispered, her face close to his, her eyes dark and gleaming. “Breaking deals, are we?”

He couldn’t help it. He surged up and claimed her lips, and she moaned softly against his mouth. Her hips pressed down against his, making him shudder all over again, and she thrust slowly, steadily against him, the fabric of her trousers rubbing against him and making him moan into her mouth.

“Hush, dearie,” she whispered, then bit his lip, the edge of his chin, his throat, and then she was sliding down his body again and kissing, licking and biting in ways that no good girl should ever, ever know. 

He caught a sound in his throat as her breasts pressed briefly against his belly, then slid down, and he squeezed his eyes shut, groaning. Another two buttons of her shirt had come undone somewhere and he could feel the smooth skin of her chest against him, so smooth.

Somehow, somehow, he was keeping still. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t doing anything except coil himself so wire tight that he knew he would be locked at the joints in the morning, but God, it didn’t matter as long as she kept on pressing against him like that. 

Her hands moved behind her and he shuddered as they ran up his legs from calves to knees, from knees to thighs, and then she was moving again and her mouth was over him, and she was kneading at his thighs, and he felt like he was breaking away from his body.

“Belle,” he moaned.

She lifted her head and looked at him, and all at once, she was kissing him with all the ferocity he wanted to show her. “Good boy,” she whispered, then rose to stand over him, and he almost whimpered in relief as she unbuttoned the trousers and slid them down. Nothing else beneath them, the vixen. Nothing but her, wet and wanting him as much as he wanted her.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Please?”

He nodded breathlessly. “Please.”

She sank to kneel over him, straddling him, and her body slid back against his. They knew each other so well, so intimately and his breath caught as she pressed against him, his hardness, her softness, and her fingers dragged across his chest. She licked her lips, watching his face, then lowered herself onto him, both of them shuddering in relief.

She was motionless for a moment, both of them were. He could feel the rapid pulse of her heart, and it matched his own, and they were still and breathless, and she smiled at him as if she had just won some great prize.

When she rocked her hips, he arched his head back, the hoarse, ragged sound in his throat barely even human. She laughed, hot and breathless with delight, and moved her hips again and again, rolling them rhythmically against him, her hands half-clawing as his chest as he pressed up against her. 

She fell forward over his chest and claimed his mouth. Her hips moved, and he strained at the bonds, growling against her lips, their tongues doing battle, the buttons of her shirt scratching against his chest.

One of her hands slid off his chest, up his arm and suddenly, one arm was free. The other followed and he pulled her hard against him, kissing her as if she could save him from drowning. Her hair fell loose from the pins all around them, and she was still moving, and breathing for him, and she was warm and trembling and he touched and she gasped and they were moving together, harder, faster, more, more, again, there, just, there, there, until his hips jerked and twitched and she ground herself down against him until she shuddered.

She sprawled on his chest, panting and breathless, and he sagged limply beneath her, one arm around her, the other spilled across the bed. It felt like he had run a thousand miles and every inch of him was aching.

His fingers curled into her hair, spread over her back, and even that made him ache, but he knew he wasn’t about to complain or protest.

Belle’s tongue crept out to lick the sweat from his throat in delicate little laps, and he closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

“I do wonder,” she whispered against his skin, blowing softly on the dampened flesh, drawing a shiver from him, “does it make you a narcissist to enjoy that?”

“Hardly, dear,” he murmured, tracing his fingers the length of her spine. “My breasts are not nearly so interesting.”

She giggled, swatting at him. She lifted her head and looked at him with the smile that was purely her. “You didn’t mind, then?” She was blushing. His dear, sweet Belle was actually blushing.

He drew her lips down to his, smiling against them. “I doubt I’ll walk straight for a week,” he admitted, “but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t worth it.”

She beamed. “I hoped you’d say that.”

He claimed another soft kiss. “I do have one small favour, though, dear.”

“Mm?”

“Would you please untie my legs?”


End file.
